word (wûrd)
n.
1. A sound or a combination of sounds, or its representation in writing or printing, that symbolizes and communicates a meaning and may consist of a single morpheme or of a combination of morphemes.
2. A weblog that you are reading, right now.
Mr.B is a thirty-something actor/improviser living in Chicago, IL.
He performs at several local theaters and this is, for him, a very happy life.
After a few drinks, though, he will tell you that he secretly wishes that he were paid to be a writer.
Until that actually happens, the words are freely given here, on his blog.
Want to link to "word" in your own blog?
First, thanks! I appreciate your passing the word along.
Second, I ask one thing of anyone who wants to link to "word". Rather than link to it, using my actual name, I ask that links to word, actually say simply "word" or "Mr.Bs blog".
I do this to protect myself from current and future employers who might come here and be distressed to see how often I say the word "fuck" or talk about "our fucking president" or how much I want to "fuck Rosario Dawson".
Your kind consideration keeps the Internets free for me to use dirty words and I thank you for it!
I should probably warn you that this clip is Not Safe For Work.
I should also tell you that I laughed outloud for a full five minutes after I saw it.
The title of this Youtube Clip is "Japanese Informercial Gets Out Of Hand."
And really, that's all the context that you need for this thing. The Less You Know, The Better.
The ending is the best part.
Enjoy.
Hilarious.
I'm still laughing about it. That's brilliant.
Cheers, COB
PS. A poster on You-Tube gave some context for this. Here's what he said...
The name of the film this is from is "Midsummer's Female Announcer". Japanese Porno films, when translated into another language always sound a little strange. The three ladies are Ryouko Sena, (the tall one), Tsubasa Okina, (the pink top) and Minami Aoyama. Their other titles sound interesting: "Lady who Undertake Disgrace", "Special Sex Truck Fully Open" and "All-Girl Anal Invitational", among many, many others. Look for SDDM-442 for this one.
So, it's the lead-up to a genuine porno. It's the editing of this clip, though, that really sells the bit. I prefer to imagine that it's a live television commercial gone horribly wrong. So, so funny.
While we're on the topic of infomercials gone horribly wrong, there's always this...
Honestly, I don't know what's wrong with people that they actually expect employees to work on the Friday after Thanksgiving. Most of the staff blows a "Day Off" on the day and do not come in to work. As I type this, there are four people in our office of 18. The other 14 are MIA or coming in late or ... who the Hell knows? Maybe I'm the jerk for NOT taking the day off for myself.
In defiance of the ridiculousness of my having to be here, I am wearing a t-shirt and hoody to work today (it's casual Friday) and 45 minutes after I got here, I have YET to do any actual work. It's a freaking protest, I tells ya!
I thought I might take a minute and recap some of the good things that are happening in my life, lately. To try and articulate some of the random thoughts that are knocking around in my head. And if I get around to a cliched Thanksgiving list of things that I am Thankful for, well, then, I guess I'll post that too.
(Although, it seems odd to me to designate a holiday each year that A.) celebrates a fictional meal that our non-fictional ancestors had with people that they would ultimately fuck over pretty terribly, B.) celebrate that event by stuffing ourselves with ridiculous amounts of food and wine and C.) cultivate a general air of gratitude in our lives that we express once a year. We're not publicly thankful all year round. Just the fourth Thursday of every month. And isn't gratitude an arbitrary emotion to address once a year. Isn't fear or sexual longing more interesting? Is there a holiday set whereupon we list the things that terrify us the most and/or the people we most want to bone? What about a holiday dedicated to greedily coveting the good lives and possessions of others? What holiday is set aside for that? But I digress.) Thanksgiving Recap: Spent Thanksgiving with my two bosses and a few of their family members. It was really relaxing and nice. Peeled potatoes for the first time. Ate caviar for the first time. Drank too much wine, but still managed to keep from embarrassing myself with stories that are only funny to me. The food was absolutely delicious. And I got a "take home" bag of supplies which will feed me for dinner tonight. With the recent changes in management at my theater, it was good to get to spend a relaxing holiday with my two bosses. No talk of work. Nothing but great stories about theater people that preceded me by thirty or more years. It was exceptionally kind of them to invite me to join them. I had a really lovely time. The Lord Of The Rings (again). I sat down yesterday and began watching the first movie (expanded edition) for the first time, since those DVDs came out. I wanted to allow some time from THAT viewing to this one, so that I could watch them again, with fresh eyes. And they don't displease. I'm really enjoying myself, watching the first movie, again. Schedule permitting, I'll try to watch the other two movies over this weekend. They really are smart, well-made movies. Wow.
Superman; 1935 Inspired by my recent reading of "It's Superman!", I've been day-dreaming about writing a six issue comics series and pitching it to DC comics, setting Superman and icons from his mythos in the world of 1935. My Superman will know nothing of Krypton. He'll be a strong guy, with amazing abilities, but nothing like the over-powered Superman of modern comics. He'll be in his early twenties and a Kansas farmboy in thought process and social skills. He can't fly, but he can jump over buildings. He's bullet-proof. He has X-ray vision. He is faster and stronger than you or I, but not as fast as the Flash and not as Strong as Hercules. I want his costume to keep getting torn in his adventures. I want him to be afraid of media atttention. I want him to meet Lois Lane and love her even though he's way below her type. I want his best friend to be Jimmy Olsen, a street kid, who sells newspapers on the streets. And I want him to fight an alien invasion, with flying saucers and little green men, with giant brains and robotic men, who clunk around Metropolis. Yeah, so, that's what I've been day-dreaming about in my off time. I really need to solidify the outline that I've got in my head and start getting some of that down on paper. I need a "Thing" that I can send to the DC publishers and try to sell them on the idea.
Joe Is Unemployed: On Tuesday, my roommate and old college chum, Joe was laid off from the theater where he worked. It was one of those panicky, economy is on a down-turn, let's try ANYTHING to save cash moves. They basically combined his full-time job with another persons full-time job, which fucks both Joe and the person who now has to do his job. It sucks. No two ways about it. Joe was there for 4 years and has enjoyed some stability and an upgraded life for working there. Better job. More pay. More opportunities. Better car. More authority. And he met his girlfriend there. His life is better for having been there. But he's depressed and stuck in the rut of thinking about the theater that he doesn't work at anymore. He's stuck working there for the rest of this week and he can't bring himself to NOT work on the next show. The show that follows the one they are just opening. He comes home and talks paternally about the cast of the current show and some of his co-workers. I have to keep reminding him that they're all irrelevant to him now. That his new job is taking care of himself. He's not there, yet. He's still stuck in the past. The past where he's still employed at his theater. I've been let go of by four different jobs now. I've been down-sized, re-positioned, not accepted and out-and-out fired. The first one was the worst one. I openly cried in my bosses office. I didn't make the decision to cry. I just couldn't contain it. I was 26 and didn't see it coming (thought I was being called into the office to get a much-delayed raise). That was the loss of job that knocked me down for a week or so, hiding from people, because I thought I had a perceptible stink of failure on me. Eventually, I figured out that I didn't. And I re-drafted my resume AGAIN and got out on the job hunt AGAIN and temped with a variety of companies AGAIN and eventually found a job that I clicked with. Which is what Joe will have to do now. Once he gets out of the rut that he's in now. Once he realizes that he doesn't stink of failure either. Once he actually understands that this is opportunity and not abject failure. I hope he gets to that point soon.
The Girl With The Bright Red Hair. There's not too much to report here, but it's just nice to know that somewhere out in this great, big, concrete city, there's a girl walking around, thinking the occasionally nice thing about me. An occasionally romantic thought about me. An occasionally hopeful thought about me. I am thinking them about her too. I think we're both thinking, "Please don't let this person turn out to be a lunatic or a disappointment. Please let this person be good and sweet and kind and loving to me." You know, the same thing we all want. It would be a nice change of pace if it actually turned out that way, for once. I am ready for that to happen. I am ready to do whatever I can, to MAKE that happen. Let's try not to over-think this one, then. Next topic, please.
The Reason For The Season. Is Christmas Music. Well, in my book it is. I inherited a genetic predisposition for Christmas music from my dad. My dad LOVES Christmas music. His happiest time of the year is Christmas Eve, watching someone, anyone, unwrap presents in his living room, beside his Christmas tree, with a small, dainty glass of egg-nog playing, while Perry Como sings about "dashing dashing through the snow! Christmas Bells are Ring-ing!" Christmas music is so intimately tied to so many happy memories for him and by extension to me. A new Christmas CD was always a good present for him. (I think this year, he will be introduced to Sufjan Stevens Xmas album. And that I'll be burning a copy for myself before I leave home after the holidays.) In preparation for the holiday season, I've been adding Christmas music to my ipod for two weeks now. I've created the "XmasMix" playlist, which covers over 12 hours of wonderful, joyful, uplifting Christmas music from the talented likes of Frank Sinatra, Ray Charles, Nat "King" Cole and Vince Guaraldi. Thanks to the Library Grift, I've also added a few incredible holiday gems to the playlist. "Christmas with the Rat Pack" "A Christmas Present from Phil Spector To You" "The Christmas Song" by Nat "King" Cole. "James Brown presents A Soulful Christmas"
And speeding their way across the city to me are the following classics... "A Holly Jolly Christmas" with Frank Sinatra Dr.Demento's Krazy Kristmas Klassiks (or something like that). "A Spike Jones Christmas" "Billboard's Best R&B Christmas Songs." "A Blue Note Christmas"
If you were to ask me what my absolutely favorite Christmas album discovery has been, though, I would have to say, without any question, that I am IN LOVE with the Ultra-Lounge album, "Christmas Cocktails" Vol.1. This jazzy, sexy, funny little Christmas collection opens with Billie May's "Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer Mambo" and never lets up! Also getting regular rotation in my earholes are Lou Rawls' "Christmas Is" and "Holiday on Skis". If you've seen me listening to my ipod at all for the past two weeks, THIS is what I've been listening to. Run, don't walk, to get this album. (Or download it from Itunes.) I'll be picking up Volumes 2 & 3 this weekend.
Ah Fuck It. Here's the Billie May track that I was telling you about. Give it a listen. If it twinkles your toes, then you'll know if the whole album is for you or not.
Christmas in Gatlinburg. The next thing that I am most looking forward to is the weekend after Christmas. I've been invited to join my mom, stepdad, aunt and uncle, cousins, their husbands and their three kids for an extended weekend in Gatlinburg, TN. This is a holiday tradition that they've enjoyed for two or three years now. The whole bunch of them trundle off for a long weekend in the city. They have a picnic breakfast to celebrate the birthday of one of they only young boy of the bunch. There is go-carting. There is shopping for the parents. The kids get a day or two to explore the tourist attractions of Gatlinburg, which include The Ripley's Believe It Or Not Museum", the multiple motorized Haunted Houses, the wax museums, the arcades, the shooting galleries, the toboggan courses, the indoor sky-diving, the sky needle! Yeah, you can see why I'm going this year, yes?
I visited Gstlinburg two or three times as an adolescent boy in the Boy Scouts, many, many years ago. And it really was the Appalachian Disneyland. I blew so much money on the haunted houses and the Ripley's Museum (which opens with a cracked barrel of water that funnels water UP into a pipe on the ceiling!!! You've GOT to check out a place that opens with defying of gravity and only gets better from there). I can't wait to explore the town with my cousins and their kids. I want to see if young Kyle's face looks the same way MINE did, when I saw that barrel and water business.
Also, I've GOT to try that Indoor Skydiving business. I mean, you stand on a giant fan that blows you so hard, that you levitate inside a circular tower with padded walls that go up two stories. Who WOULDN'T want to fly indoors?!?
Incredible! Sn ow Qu een Opens on Monday. And the best early Christmas present that I can offer you are free tickets for the Opening Night on Monday. I'm saving you $40 and inviting you to join me on the first performance of the best little show that you've never thought to attend. Seriously, get up on this. You can thank me afterwards. And you will. Because it's wonderful. And you'll be glad you saw it. So, shoot me an email at work and get on the reservation list for this show. It's filling up fast.
Okay, I've wasted a full hour on this post. And I didn't really get around to listing the random things that I am thankful for. In order to fulfill that annual tradition, here's my list of Ten Things That I am Thankful For. Ten Things That I am Thankful For.
1. Boobs. 2. Full Time Employment. 3. Obama is the next prez. 4. My Dog. 5. My Ipod. 6. Jazz Music. 7. The Tacqueria at the corner of Lincoln & Montrose. 8. The Chicago Public Library System. 9. 8 Years In The Greatest City on Earth. (Shh, don't tell the other cities!) 10.You
There. See? You made it on my list. I am Thankful For You. (And if you work on it and put some time in, maybe you'll rank higher than my neighborhood tacqueria, next year. Although, I wouldn't count on it. It's a pretty great tacqueria.)
Now, get back to work, corporate drones. You've got five more hours to go, before you can go home and make a delicious cold-turkey sandwich!
Joe and I were just talking about how amusing it is that we receive a dozen "Happy Thanksgiving Day!" text messages, sometimes from numbers that we don't even recognize. The Thanksgiving text message has officially replaced cards and phone calls. It's fun to recognize how technology alters our social patterns, isn't it? Says the guy who is posting a general "Happy Thanksgiving Day" post on his blog, for anyone and everyone to read. Forever.
May your Thanksgiving be spent with those that you love!
I've just been told by one of the development folks in our theater that we have a block of seats available for the Monday, Dec. 1st performance of The Sn ow Qu een. It's our holiday show and it's incredible. Folk music, rock music, ballads, comedy numbers, heart-breaking ballads and an incredibly vocal ending that will absolutely break the thin veneer of crust on your cold, dead heart and make you feel genuinely good.
Anyways, a board member of the theater set aside a big block of tickets and just cancelled, so there are now a bunch of open seats for the opening night performance. I've just been given the go-ahead to offer up tickets to friends - and seeing as that's YOU, well, this is me offering them to you.
The show is on Monday, Dec. 1st at 7:30pm at The Bio Graph Theater. If you want to go, shoot me an email at my work address which is cbiddle@ victo rygardens. org. (I broke that up to avoid spambots and Google searches. Just combine those segments to form the actual email address.) I can give you a +1 if you want to bring a friend and there will be wine and beer offered afterwards, mingling with the cast and crew. A full, Opening Night Soiree.
In full disclosure, it's a fantastic show. My favorite thing that we did last year. I saw it 5 times last year, bringing every friend I could finagle to come see it. Here's YOUR chance to check it out, for free, and enjoy the Opening Night shenanigans, too.
Met a girl on Saturday night. We flirted, drank together, and even stole a moment to get away from the group and explore a little intimate moment together. Talked to the same girl on the phone last night. 2 hours of "Have you ever"s and "Once I went to"s and "Would you like to"s. Rather than wasting a lot of time re-capping our one night together, conversation naturally and easily flowed from personal anecdotes and our recent histories, and a few gentle hints of the futures we would wish for each other.
Seeing A Show With Her On Sunday. Our first, post-party get-together is scheduled for Sunday night. We have loose plans and a back-up plan if they don't work out. The important thing is that we get some time to see and hear each other and get used to the idea of the existence of the other person. To look over and see that they're still there. To gain some context on who we are...
I'm looking forward to it. Every indicator that I have is that this girl is smart, funny, sensitive, alive and aware. Every indicator is that time spent with her is pretty low drama. That she's a person that you could build a solid foundation with.
What Does All Of This Mean? I know it's too early to really know all of that stuff, but in the same way that a pilot can sit in the cockpit of his plane, survey the clear skies and the smooth jet streams before he runs his maneuvers and know that it's a good day for flying, I can judge accurately that from here, she looks like someone pretty special.
So, yes, there's a girl. A new girl.
And it's nice to have someone interested in me too. Lately, I've had these fleeting crushes on people who haven't reciprocated them. It's nice to look at a pretty girl and have her look back at me with interest. It's such a simple thing, but when you've been without it for a while, you can almost forget how important it is.
I just read online that Barack Obama just got lunch today at "Manny's" in the Loop at 12:29pm. Picked up his corned beef sandwiches, paid the bill in cash, shook some hands and got out of there.
I like Manny's. I've been there several times for lunch with Hendo, when I used to work down in the Loop. I think that's awesome. I would like to be enjoying a lunch and have Barack Obama walk in. I would like to shake his hand and tell him how proud I was that he won the election.
Living in the president's hometown for the next four years will be a periodic and random source of coolness. Coolness like this.
Thanksgiving looms on the horizon of next week and I have just made my plans. Last year, I ended up at Johnny's house, drunk in his hot-tub, wondering if I was actually going to work the day after the holiday. (I did. The office was nearly empty and those of us who were there left early.) I got an invitation to go to Johnny's again, this year, but I probably won't go. As I get older, that crowd of people keeps evolving and I know fewer and fewer people there, the longer I go to parties at Johnny's house.
This year, I intentionally avoided going home for holiday because I thought I would have a paid improv gig for Friday evening. But that gig went to a stand-up comedian instead. So, there is really no reason to NOT go home for the weekend.
Last night, though, while working late in the office, my boss invited me to celebrate the holiday with her and her husband (my other boss). I think I am going to accept the invitation. I've worked for them for a year now and I can already feel the edges of this professional relationship failing under the pressure of my genuine respect and admiration for them both. I wonder about how they will both react to having me around, in their home, for a few hours and through a sit-down dinner. I guess I'll find out, because I am going to accept the invitation. I'm going to make sure that I don't overstay my welcome. And of course, I'll bring a desert to contribute to the meal.
One of my two bosses is leaving her position at the theater (after 30+ years!) It's going to be hard to adjust to life without her, both good and bad. I don't know if she'll be around the theater to give me an invitation to thanksgiving, so I'm taking this chance now, while I can.
I won't be in a hot-tub, trying to talk two sexy, drunk, 20-something girls into kissing each other like I did last year, but I bet I am handed a snifter of good scotch and told some really wonderful Chicago theater stories. I am looking forward to that.
Do yourself a favor and spend your Thanksgiving with your family. Maybe your biological family. But it doesn't have to be. You could certainly spend time with your "city family" or at one of the many Orphan's Dinners. Just be sure to be with friends, wherever you are. People you appreciate, who appreciate you. Eat well. Enjoy good conversation. Good for the body. Good for the soul. That's something to be thankful for.
AICN has this nice interview between "Moriarty" and Spike Jonze, who is directing "Where the Wild Things Are" as a live action film. It's a fascinating interview because Moriarty has seen a rough cut of the film and he speaks casually about it with Jonze, who is typically very interview-shy. There's even a moment where Jonze polls "Moriarty" for his opinion on whether some pics they're looking at should be released pre-film release or after. Jonze is looking for an actual opinion and "Moriarty" gives a smart response. It's fascinating to peek into the an actual discussion and decision-making process, which normally takes place hidden away in board rooms and in marketing departments.
Additionally, the notices that I heard last year that the film was in serious trouble are explained better here. The film isn't bad or terribly written or over-directed, it is TONALLY different than what the studios thought they were getting and it panicked them. Jonze also shot it in a way that is labor-intensive (shooting in Australia, with body-suit puppets of the Wild Things, which are supposed to get facial expressions created later in post, but matching the wildly variable, organic look of the live footage. A challenge for computer animators who typically prefer to work in more controlled environments.) Jonze co-scripted the film with Dave Eggers. I'm fascinated that Eggers had a hand in this thing. I'm curious to see what he brought to the project.
One more cool hook about this film, Jonze talks about how he got into the process of expanding a ten sentence book into a full length feature film. Rather than tacking plotlines and other nonsense onto the film, Jonze delves deeper into who the Wild Things are and how they became Wild Things and what they want. Why DO they subjugate themselves to a small, very-breakable human child? One clue to this answer is that the Wild Things embody Wild Emotions that children often feel. Anger. Jealousy. Joy. Suspicion. Fear. Things that children can't control. Given the chance to run "wild" they become the Wild Things or are personified by the Wild Things.
I think that's a smart idea. Fleshing out what Sendak wrote, without needlessly complicating things. (Sendak has been involved with this process since Day One and is absolutely on board with this film.) By making smart decisions like this, I think that the movie can avoid ending up over-produced and absolutely charmless, like "Cat In The Hat".
AICN also posted these two exclusive pics, which hint at the design and look of the Wild Things, without giving too much away. I like everything I've seen about this film. I'll absolutely be checking it out in Halloween of next year.
Me, personally, I don't remember much from the 70's.
I was born in 1975.
I spent 1975 through 1976 being passed around a group of adults and searching out the tit. I also ate anything you handed, slept wherever I wanted and laughed at everything!
In 1976, I experimented, like many of my colleagues with walking and finally broke myself of the nasty habit of shitting my own pants. (What can I say, they were crazy times.) I grew my hair out long (like Nicholas on "Eight Is Enough!") and became a counter-culture, having long conversations with imaginary characters that only I could see. I was big into Sesame Street and listened to classic rockers like Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck. My favorite song was "The Bare Necessities" and I think that was one of the foundations of my adult philosophies.
Oh sure, it wasn't all peaches and roses, baby. Parents divorced in 1978 and that same year I was pretty convinced that a monster called Mr. Widemouth lived in my closet and wanted to eat me up. After one long night of cowering in fear from Mr. Widemouth, I risked dismemberment and went to pee in the bathroom. In the dark, I mistook my mothers closet for the potty and pissed all over her shoes. That was my low point. '78 was a hard year for me.
But I blossomed in 1979 in the the full expression of my hippy lifestyle. At the age of 4, I began pre-school where I enjoyed communal nap-times with my friends, elaborate pretend co-habitation scenarios with both boys and girls and developed a VERY early crush on Miss Robin, my pre-school teacher. I used the potty like a big boy and was very good at wiping my butt. I excelled in it, really. I was proud of my pee-pee and showed it to anyone who wanted to see it. I was also interested in other pee-pees and hoo-hoos. If you wanted to show them to me, I would be happy to take a gander at them, too. I guess you could say that other foundations of my adult philosophy were formed then, too.
As the American culture shook off the tacky, care-nothing, hairy-underbelly of the seventies and began to slide in the neon-lit, thin-necktied, high-gloss of the eighties, so too, did I grow up. By 1980, I was 5 and was also ready to upgrade my lifestyle too. I took baths alone, used the potty alone and fell into the monotonous work-a-day drone of being a first grader. Early to rise, off to school with my other co-workers, debating the important issues of Batman versus Superman, who was or wasn't retarded and what a boob felt like. At the end of a day, I would come back home from school to my mothers house and would watch tv or play Atari until my mom got home. On weekends, I would visit my dad and we would go see movies and eat fast food because each weekend with him was a celebration.
That was the seventies that I remember. I was pretty caught up in my own game, you know? I had my own bag of stuff going on and I missed out on the what the rest of the world was up to.
Saturday Night Live premiered in 1975 but I was well asleep before it came on.
Star Wars was released in 1978 but I couldn't follow plot or distinguish what or wasn't real in a movie, so it was lost on me.
There was a global oil crisis in 1979, but that didn't affect how far or fast my tricycle could get me.
Punk, disco, jazz-rock fusion and hip-hop were born, but I was busy singing about my "ABC's" to anyone who would "sing along with me".
When I got older, I was honestly embarrassed by the seventies that I knew. My dad had a bushy porn-star mustache. My mom dressed like Stevie Nicks. My grandmother emulated Tammy Wynette and everyone drove big, boat-sized cars. We watched Hee-Haw on tv and spoke poorly of the blacks. We went to church on Sundays... well... religiously. We concerned ourselves with the minutiae of family life. Birthdays. Holidays. Funerals. Everything was covered in polyester or was swaddled on thick, plush carpeting and was coated in matching brown and orange. People painted their homes in colors that didn't match or make any sense and looked to Holly Hobby for fashion advice. It was as if every man, woman and child in America said, "What would the world be like if nobody gave a shit what they looked like or where they lived?", explored that for a few years and then jolted themselves back to hyper-awareness in the 80's out of deep, deep embarrassment.
Lately, though, I've forgiven the tacky fucking seventies for what they were. A period of selfless experimentation and rejection of the tight-laced 50's and the wild 60's. We didn't trust our government anymore. We didn't trust our parents or our churches anymore. We were wild to set our own way and do our own thing and sometimes the explorations lead us down weird or unsightly places, oh, like "Elton John" rock performances or "Ziggy Stardust" or "KISS".
Now, when I see the clothes and the hippies and they actually look fun and funny to me. I would grow my hair into a ponytail right now, if I could. I dig the big moustache and the beards. I listen to Blind Faith, David Bowie and Curtis Mayfield. I like soul and jazz and funk. I could get stoned, sink into a bean-bag and listen to "Frampton Comes Alive" WAY TOO LOUD and be perfectly happy. "Do YOU feel like I DO?!?"
I recently saw "Zodiac" and while the murders weren't appealing at all, the grittiness and texture of the 1970's really spoke to me. I wanted to step into the movie and drink the bad coffee, watch the boring, toneless television, escape the pagers and cell-phones and ride around San Francisco in a big, yellow cab and just watch the city go by. I want to live in an apartment that isn't as jacked into the electronic world as my current apartment is. I don't want gadgets, ipod, gear-clocks and DVRs. I want wood-slat blinds, sexy-ass rock concerts, guilt-free cigarettes, hassle-free sex and Coca-Cola in a glass bottle.
Maybe I'm developing nostalgia for a decade that I only briefly visited. Maybe our culture has outgrown out disdain for the decade and embraced some of it's charms. I can't tell if this is an individual attitude of mine or a reflection of the current culture, in general. I am only now becoming aware of my own attraction to the 70's.
Yeah, I'm calling that whole thing off. And as a reminder to myself about how "NOT EVERYHING MAKES A GREAT BLOG POST", I'm not deleting that whole mess from this blog.
You know what? Some ideas are best kept to yourself. This was one of those.
So, don't come up to me and gloat because I tried it and then called it off. I don't want to talk about my masturbation habits with you. Let's just go back to that age-old unspoken agreement where you pretend that I don't do it and I don't correct you on it. Just like we both pretend that YOU don't do it and you don't correct me on it. (With the primary difference being that if YOU decide to try to quit for 30 days, I won't know about it.)
And this isn't because I tried and failed, although, technically that's exactly what happened. This is because there's this lovely nice girl at work who occasionally reads my blog and I saw her on Saturday night and thought to myself, "Oh God, what if she's looking at me right now and is thinking about how much I do or do not masturbate?!?" Can there be anything worse than that? No wonder she doesn't hang out with me socially. I sound and act like a crazy person on this blog. Well, an entertainingly public crazy person.
So, yes, let's quietly shelve this up there with the other dumb things I tried to do in my life, right between "At the age of 12, tried to get my name legally changed to Chester" and "the summer I dressed exclusively in clothes as seen on Miami Vice and was about 60 pounds overweight". God, there've been some bonehead ideas in my day. This was one of those.
Everyone go about your business. Watch a funny YouTube video or something. Let's pretend this never happened. Move along.
Recoiling in shame, Mr.B
PS. Good Christ, I made a blogger tag for this thing. As if there were going to be so many entertaining posts about it, that I would need a system to track them all. Lord help me. Sometimes I am a fool.
Let me be really quick about this. This shouldn't take a whole lot of convincing on my part. I shouldn't have to work hard to convince you to do something that you already should know that you want to do.
But you should go see "Quantum of Solace" as soon as possible. Preferably in a nice, large movie theater.
I saw it on Friday night and I had a BLAST! This is the James Bond movie that I've been waiting to see. After this, I am fully on board for the re-boot. Gone are the gadgets, the romances, the grotesque villains. The Bond movie is firmly rooted in the real world. And I like that. I would've thought that I would've missed those touchstones of the Bond franchise, but I didn't. (Well, to be totally honest, I was done with the romance of a new girl in every movie and the double entendre names of the characters had worn itself thin, too.)
When I saw "Casino Royale" I generally liked it, but it's hard to get excited about watching Bond play high stakes poker. He felt restrained by the plot. Like he could do more, but that movie didn't let him. "QOS" releases Bond out into the real world in a very big way.
Bond does not give a shit. If he wants your car, he will take your car. If he wants a boat, he will take the boat. If he wants to stop someone, he'll ram their car and pull them out of the wreckage. Maybe because so much of this plot is driven by his relentless rage and need for revenge, but this Bond uses blunt instruments. If it's quicker to kill a guy, than to torture them for information, then he'll kill them and move on. He leaves a tremendous body count behind him, in this movie. And he knows it. You can see him struggling with the consequences of his actions. Sure, a license to kill means that you can whack a bartender to get a drink, but the downside to that is that you can't really form any attachments, because everyone around you could be whacked at any time. (The bartender scenario is hypothetical and isn't in the movie.)
I think it's clear that this Bond movie owes a few nods to "The Bourne Identity". The plot rambles unpredictably, like a Bourne movie. The action sequences are brutal, fast and devoid of clunky setups to get to some crazy-ass, unbelievable death for a villain. But it's good to see the movie series that started it all, reclaim it's position at the top of the pile. It's good to see a Bond movie that feels like a Bond movie, again.
So, yes, well worth your 8.50 and that's not even counting the geek-gasm you get for seeing the first Star Trek trailer at the beginning of the movie. That movie already has my 10 bucks, too.
So, while crossing Halsted street, to catch a bus up to Boystown to get a drink at the Town Hall Pub with some buddies of mine, I was thinking about sex.
Which is no surprise. I think about sex often. So do you, if you're honest about it.
But I wasn't thinking about boobs or screwing or orgasms or reliving some dirty-ass memory. Instead, i was thinking about sex and my own sex drive and how often I want it and did I used to want it more. You know, sort of doing a sexual inventory, of sorts.
I think that I used to be very good at sex. I think that I did a remarkably good job, tending to the needs of the women I was with. In college, I was a maniac, but a focused one. I was always up for "one more" and "oh, let's try this position I saw in a porn, once". An absolute maniac.
But that was ten or more years ago. And I think times have changed. I think my performance and stamina have changed. Lessened. I think that they've lessened, somehow.
The last girl I was with was a maniac. If I'd met her in college, and been into meeting her challenge, A.) we would've both been chapped and rubbed raw after a single weekend and B.) we would've gotten absolutely nothing done in a weekend. But meeting her now, well, it didn't go well. I tried, honestly, I tried. But she always wanted more. More of everything. Not size. No problems there, mind you. But longer sessions, deeper screwing, screwing more often. She also wanted to be strangled, which might tell me that there was something else going on beyond my own physical limitations. But still, those nights, when she would lay next to me and say, "Hey, you wanna do it again?" and I would think, "Christ, lady, I can't do it again. Let me go to sleep" and then I would reluctantly roll over to her and take an increasingly disappointing run at it.
You see? Lessened.
Alone, though, devoid of a partner, it's a different story. I wake up in the morning and think, "God, that as a terrible nightmare. I should probably wank off. That will make me feel better." Or if my roommate is out with his girlfriend, I think, "Hm, I better go toss one off. Dunno when he'll be back. Better make use of the time before he gets home." Late at night, a night not unlike this one, I'll finish blogging or checking email or downloading music into the ipod and then click over to some amazing, free porn site as a second thought, Boom, next thing I know, I've had an orgasm and want to go to bed. I sleep very, very well.
So, perhaps things aren't lessened all that much. I'm very active, sexually. Just not with my partner. (And in the interest of full disclosure, I would mention that I could not match the libido of the girlfriend before this last one, either. Again, she was a maniac and I was the waste of flesh, willing to do anything with my face and hands that she wanted, because my poor, poor dick needed some down-time.)
This was the back-story that was racing around in my mind, as I crossed Halsted street to catch the #8 bus.
I used to be pretty good in bed. Am I still? What if I'm not and I just don't know it? What if I leave girls unsatisfied and they're just too polite to tell me? Christ, I don't want to be bad in bed. That would be terrible. Well, it would be, if I were dating someone. But I might date someone, so maybe I better get in shape, now, to be ready for then. I better hit the gym. All this extra weight can't be helping. It's got to be affecting my blood flow. I probably better re-think my diet too. I should also think about cutting down on all the tossing off. Every morning? Every night? And most showers? Seriously, maybe the problem with keeping up with my past lovers was that I was already worn out from my own sessions alone, that there wasn't anything else for anyone else. So, maybe I better cut down on all of the self-love. Maybe I better just cut it out altogether.
And that's when it hit me. My next experiment. My next challenge for myself.
I'm going to swear off from jerking off for as long as I possibly can.
Let's just see how a little time off from sex, altogether, affects the libido. Will a man, denied water, want it that much more? Or will he forget what it tastes like altogether?
That's what we'll find out, together, you and I. Today is Saturday, Nov.15, 2008. Day 1 of "The Untouched Challenge". Let's see how long I can go without masturbation and what this deprivation does to my body and mind. I'll post about it occasionally here, in the blog, to keep you informed of the mental and physical effects. Of course, I'll want to blog about other things, too. So, let's discretely keep track of my days without self-injury with a handy tracker in my sidebar. I'll call it "Days without Self Injury" and update it daily, until I break down and touch myself... or end up in a clock-tower with a rifle, picking off coeds and screaming, "Who's fucked now, sister?!?" the counter will track my days off. In essence, you can play along from home, but still keep on doing what you want to be doing.
Let's take this journey together, you and I, and see what lies on the other side.
According to this entry on the Urban Dictionary, The Gooch is
1. Name of a bully who used to bother Arnold from the sit-com, "Different Strokes".
and
2. Nickname for James Giugliano, a person who used to bully people in the same fashion.
But I know The Gooch by it's second definition... According to Johnny Knoxville, the area between a mans balls and his asshole. Equivilent to the "chin rest" on a woman
Yeah, The Gooch is medically known as The Perineum. Wikipedia has some NSFW pics of it here. Supposedly it's wicked sensitive and one of the under-utilized erogenous zones of the body. (I know I underuse my own.) On the tv show, "Jackass" the Perineum or the "Gooch", as they call it, sees lots of action. It gets shocked with medical electrodes, whacked with a dog bone, kicked by pre-schoolers and lacerated by a pair of bunjee underwear. (Go look for those clips on YouTube. Or rent the DVDs. Whatever works best for you.)
So, it was with some alarm, that I just overheard the theater's crackerjack development team title the specialty drink for Saturday's Gala event, "The Gooch"! You see, in the play that they're promoting, there's a character named "Agnes Gooch" and they're naming the drink after her. (It's some fruity vodka concoction.)
At first, I thought it was vaguely funny that these people will be ordering a drink at the bar that's only slightly less well know, but equally as scatological as a "Taint". But then I thought that most of the older folks who will be AT this event, won't know what the name "Gooch" has evolved to mean. So, they'll order and drink up their "Gooch"s and not know how ridiculous that is. But I thought, "Well, I better, at least, forewarn the Head of Development about this" and I didn't want to broadcast it around the offices, so I wrote a small note on post-it, saying,
Hey there, Not to be gross or anything, but the term, "The Gooch" has evolved to refer to the fleshy area between a person's rectum and their genitals. They use it on "Jackass" all the time. I just wanted you to know. Thanks, Mr.B
The development staff member, a sweet, but totally sheltered soul, came over to her desk, bent over, read the note, said, "Ewwwww!" and then looked up at me to see if I was kidding or not. I smiled sheepishly and said, "Sorry about that".
She said, "Well, it's a name of a character in the show", wadded up the note, threw it away and proceeded to finish filling out signage advertising "The Gooch" at a reasonable bar rate.
I know, without having to hear the conversation, that she's going to go to her co-worker, a horrible, wretched, complaining individual and tell her the story about the "nasty" note that I left on her desk. I know that this is going to turn into a story illustrating how innapropriate I am. Somehow this will be told to illustrate a character flaw of mine. I know this as surely as the sun will rise and set tomorrow.
Because God Forbid I actually know what I'm talking about and help someone prevent a social faux pas, by actually listening to me. God Forbid we value the experience and knowledge of someone who knows about something OTHER THAN original play production. God Forbid that we take in new information and acknowledge that there's a world beyond our sheltered little experience.
I have to work the event tomorrow night. When I'm not working, I'm going to hang around the bar and hawk as many "Gooches" as I can. I'll ask the patrons...
"Have you tasted The Gooch, yet? It's fantastic!"
and
"Wait until you get down your first Gooch! After that, they fly by! You won't know how many Gooches you've had, when you're through!"
and
"I'm having a Gooch. You have to try it. Taste my Gooch."
I'll propose toasts and encourage everyone to raise up their "Gooch"s and we'll toast live theater, the voice of the modern man, and then we'll adjourn to the buffet for plates of "Camel Toes" and "Moose Knuckles"!
Ridiculous.
Cheers, Mr.B
Can you find the "Gooch" in this picture? I bet you can!
Watching South Park tonight and who popped up in a NATIONAL commercial, hawking video games to me... but Portland Improv Sensation and Cute Dog Owner, BOB LADEWIG!
Don't believe me?
Well, peep these hot screen captures!
And take a look at this trailer!
The Handsomest Man in Improv waves his Wii Wand at you at :20 of this trailer! (He's the fella in the yellow shirt with the black stripes.)
So, congratulate Bob on his National Commercialdom. And next time you see him, ask him the funny story about how he ended up in Paris, pitching this very game to people. Yeah, you heard me. Paris, baby, Paris!
EDITED TO ADD: Waitaminnit! Here he is again! Only this time he's with a Mexican wrassler! God Bless America! Bob be havin' all sorts of adventures!
I have yet to go get it. The weather has been either rainy or freezing cold. Too cold to ride an adult tricycle home from the theater.
So, it sits in the future room at the theater.
And I am here.
And we are apart.
For now.
I WILL claim that trike.
I WILL ride it home.
I WILL run errands in my neighborhood on her.
Soon.
Yes. Very soon.
Nice trike, bitch.
PS. Did I mention that the trike and I are doing a fun run on Nov. 30th? Well, we are! Up in Evanston. I've been clearance by the race organizers to ride the trike instead of running. I'm itching to have any excuse to take her out for a spin. A tiny 5k fun run is the perfect excuse!
I have to be vague about this, because nothing is set or final. But here's what I can say... a Very Important Someone just walked up to me, quietly pulled me aside and had a private conversation with me about Something Important. This Someone asked me questions, looking for my opinion and candidly indicated to me that they're thinking about doing This Thing That I Want Them To Do.
If This Thing happens, it will be good for me. Good for my workplace. Good for my co-workers. And very, very good for a friend of mine.
Wow.
Tomorrow is going to be a Very Big Day.
Sorry to be so vague. I just wanted to blog about the abstract feeling of elation that I have right now. I want to go to each person in my office and say, "This Really Great Thing is COMING!" and have them get it and then we all dance around about the Good Times Ahead. But because it's secret and I've been instructed NOT to talk about it, this blog entry is as close as I can get to disclosure.
Yeah, so... nothing to see here. Move along, people. Just move along.
Cheers, Mr.B
PS. No. This has nothing to do with any circus. I should clarify for both of my regular readers.
This is me. Doing my Happy Dance. No, wait. That's my Sexy Dance.
Honestly, I didn't pay any attention to it when it hit. Sometimes it takes me a while to adapt to new technology. (I didn't have a CD player until a full three years after they hit and I still don't know what the GENIUS on my Itunes is supposed to do.) But then, one day, as I was walking past my Dashboard to go post some brilliant post, I saw that I had a Follower.
"1 Follower" it helpfully said. And when I clicked on it, there was a link to my one and only follower, Mr.Matt who artfully keeps this charming blog, right here.
After checking things out a little bit, I got the skinny on this whole "Following" business. The deal is, once you "Follow" a blog, the latest updates of it appear on the Dashboard of your blog. If you see something interesting, you click on the entry and it pops up in a new window and VIola! You've got an updated Reader that tracks latest entries from your favorite blogs. It's like you have a constantly updating newspaper full of whatever your favorite writers and friends are up to. It's a newspaper customized to my interests. I care much more what you people are up to and a lot less what Britney Spears is up to. So, it's the perfect newspaper.
Also, it makes people happy to see that someone is following their blog. Look at this! I followed this guy and got a shout-out on his blog for being his internet buddy. A week later, I gave him a hundred bucks to settle an old tab! So, in THIS case, using the follow function made this guy a HUNDRED BUCKS!
Also, you can create a widget in your sidebar that brags about the high quality folks that check out your blog. Which links them back to their blog. The Internet Superhighway equivalent of the Circle of Life.
Also, you can add another widget that updates your sidebar with the latest posts of the blogs that you follow. I haven't done this yet, but it's coming soon. People will look at my blog and say, "Oh! Arnie posted something new! Let me see what he's up to!" Trust me, it will happen.
There are only two drawbacks to this great, big, free-text, love-in...
A.) First, you have to PUBLICLY follow a blog to let the blogger know that you read his/her stuff. Otherwise, why post a widget displaying your one reader, when your blog is actually getting a ton of hits. (And of course, you have to have a Blogger acct to be a Blogger follower. Which is hard cheese to the blog-impaired, but that's your own fault for fearing words.)
B.) Second...I forgot what the other drawback is. I was so amused by my clever use of the term "Hard Cheese for [somebody]" that I forgot the second point that I was going to make. Oh well, Hard Cheese for me, I guess?
So, really, there's only a single drawback to keep you from following a blog (publicly) and it's not a very good one. If we all adopt this system, we will all look and feel appreciated by tens of twenty's of people. Insanely popular amongst a select group of people who already know us in real life. And isn't that exactly the sort of thing that we should encourage.
In summary, here are my key points.
1.) Publicly follow the blogs that you like. Good for them. Good for you.
2.) "Hard Cheese" is a clever turn of phrase. Use it often.
Oh wait! I just remembered the other drawback. Blogger Follower doesn't recognize and update every blog. Try as I might, I can't get it to recognize my favorite sex column "Violet Blue" (NSFW, kiddies!) Instead, I have to manually click over there to see what that naughty little minx is up to. So, it's not a perfect system.
But don't let that be a drawback for you, either. Embrace the system that's currently in place. Trust that Blogger will work out the kinks and share the love. Follow the blogs that you love. Or at least that interest you. Let a blogger know that you appreciate their narcissistic navel-gazing. (At the very least, you'll see your clever profile pic pop up in a teeny tiny pic on somebody's sidebar! That's something, right?)
I just read today that Obama is quietly making plans to close Guantanamo Bay. As it turns out, you DON'T have to hold people indefinitely with no plans to put them through trial, releasing the innocent or punishing the guilty. It turns out that they can be given a fair trial and get on with their lives, withouth being institutionalized forever.
Oh Obama, is there no aggregious wrong from the last eight years that you can't easily identify and then firmly reverse or correct in less than a week?
It's like you read my "Things That Are Shitty About This Country" diary and made a list of everything that needs to be fixed and assembled a list of 200+ Bush-sponsored wrongs that need to be corrected.
I feel like the young bride who has married this powerful, strong, smart Harvard graduate who keeps impressing me with amazing, romantic gesture after romantic gesture. I want to run out to all of my girlfriends and say, "Oh my god. You'll never believe what he did next ... he's going to get another stimulus package for the middle class and wants to lift the ban on stem-cell research and then he made me a delish tuna-salad! I know, he's TOTALLY amazing, right?!?"
I keep waiting for us to have our first fight "Obama! How could you agree to maintain NAFTA under carefully-regulated restrictions?!? It's NAFTA or me, Barack!" and my mother tells me not to fall in love to quickly, but I just can't help myself. I don't know if he's just unilaterally wonderful or if things were just so incredibly shitty before that any sort of sensible, humane governance looks like FDR-style, ticker-tape worthy, sweeping reform! Maybe it's a mix of both.
Whatever the justification, that man won me over, big-time and he continues to win me over, time and time again. I sure do love that man of mine!
I can be pretty rabidly anti-commercial, meaning that I get angry when I feel like people are trying to sell something to me that I don't want or need. Generally speaking, I hate commercials. I watch most tv programs on my DVR, when I get around to it and it's a sublime treat to fast-forward the commercials (and the jokes on "Funniest Home Videos" - I'm only there for the clumsy dogs, baby farts and crotch hits.)
That said, there is one brand of commercials that I will stop and watch every... fucking... time.
Apple commercials.
I don't know why they capture my attention like they do. But they do. Maybe it's their simplicity or their use (or lack of color). They never make me want to run out and buy the Apple product, but I have been known to discover music through them.
I saw this commercial and immediately Googled the artist and the song and bought it off of Itunes.
Of course, it's Feist. And the song is "1234". And I really DO dig that song. The whole album "The Reminder" is actually pretty good. But that song. Well, it just puts me in a damned good mood.
Boom. I became a consumer because of something I saw in a commercial.
A few months later, the same thing happened to me, when I saw this commercial...
Again, rushed to Itunes and bought the album, a full two weeks before it released. It gave me that song, "Viva La Vida" immediately and then, in two weeks, it uploaded the rest of the album. But for two weeks, I was out cash for an album that didn't even exist yet.
I really dig the visuals that they used for that commercial. The colors and textures are so trippy and incredible. I want to get stoned and watch an entire movie using that color scheme and animation style.
It's months later and this is the latest Ipod commercial.
And of course, I fucking love THAT song too. And I'll probably need to go download that too. That song is "Around the Bend" by The Asteroids Galaxy Tour. I just checked Itunes and those kids don't have a whole album yet. Just a few EPs. But they sound pretty good to me. So, I'll probably pick them up off of Itunes and bounce around the city to them.
I feel guilty for being to easily influenced by these commercials. They shouldn't drive my buying habits, but the reality is, they do. I take some consolation that in most cases I'm not buying the big ticket item that they're shilling to me. But it still feels a little embarrassing to admit that they get me with those commercials, but they do.
While we're on the topic of advertising that appeals to me for reasons that I can't explain, I have to make a brief mention of the E-Trade baby. I normally don't truck with Talking Babies. Normally it looks creepy as Hell, but for some reason, the E-Trade baby appeals to me. Maybe it's the natural posture of the baby and how the words seem to match his little mood and positioning. I don't know why it works for me, but it does.
Here's the one with the clown that you probably saw during the Superbowl this year.
But this is the first one that I saw and the one that still makes me laugh, when I see it.
I have no interest in online trading. Or having a baby. But every time I see that E-Trade baby pop up in the commercials that I'm fast-forwarding, I stop and watch it.
Now, if only there was a song that I could go download from Itunes featuring that baby singing along with a catchy beat.
My feet are cold and I can hear the wind howling past the front windows and yesterday I caught tiny hail stones on my tongue on the walk back from the bank, bundled up like Randy from "A Christmas Story".
It's winter.
And the nice reprieve of moderately warm weather that we enjoyed for the OBama rally on Tuesday was the last breath of Fall, before she gives over to Winter, altogether, the whore. Two weeks of Fall, already gone.
And in recognition of this fact and because it's going to be cold again and because my body marks the changing of the seasons, I've decided that it's time to grow out my beard again. I shaved for the last time on Thursday of last week. Sure, I'll tend the neckline and trim the cheeks and keep it from getting unruly, but bearded I will be.
In a month or less, I will look like this...
And I will feel better for it, because "Beards Are For The Fall."
It's Saturday and at 3pm, I am still in my pajamas. Which is exactly how I wanted to spend my Saturday. Slept in and have been at this computer for 3 hours, downloading music, adding album covers to the ipod, following up on email, reading news and surfing blogs.
On Friday, a local blogger discovered me and made contact and today I am following up and reading her blog. I followed a link on her sidebar and found another prodigious blogger. And I am flipping between them, back and forth, while album covers synchronize on my ipod. Ironically, because they're friends, they keep on popping up on each others comments and this actually feels like a dialogue between them, that I'm listening in on.
They are both young, eloquent, sexy, smart and deeply searching for something that they haven't found yet. And because they're both mired in the formless, grey muddiness of early twenties through mid-twenties, they're both anxious about who and where they are.
I want to reach out to both of them and say, "Relax. You're exactly where you're supposed to be, for who you are. You're not going to go insane. Or end up unemployed or crammed into some hateful, demeaning job that you hate. You're not going to end up like your mothers, either. You're going to be okay."
I want to get tea and coffee with these girls and talk and relax and slow them down enough to enjoy who and where they are. The same thing I wish someone had done for me, when I was their age.
They'll figure it out. Things will get better than they are now. One of them will get over the ex-fiance. The other one will meet a guy who is not as cute as she wants him to be, but will treat her like an equal and a partner. And frankly, that's more important than washboard abs and olympic-style tight ass. Again, it's all stuff that they'll figure out on their own.
For the time being, I am enjoying, flipping between them. They're making me laugh. And they're making me smile. And they're making me think and empathize and that's the sexiest thing that any girl (or person) can do.
Diving Back In Between Them, Mr.B
PS. The very brief wikipedia page about "Ménage à trois" gives some interesting information about the term. It's French, obviously, and translates to mean, "Household of Three", which emphasizes the domestic living style of three people living and loving together. An element that is, I think, lost, when people hear the term used. It's almost exclusively sexual, in contemporary usage. But I'm fascinated by the domestic idea of polygamous co-habitation. It's interesting to me that the term originates from that idea. You can see what I mean, by clicking here.
PSS. A Google Image Search, with no filters on, for the term "Menage A Trois" reminds oneself that A.) the term is almost entirely sexual in it's current connotation and B.) women are amazingly flexible and can fit three bodies into the most unaccommodating spaces. Good Lord.
Took an interesting phone call, the day before yesterday from one of the participants in one of the theater's annual fund-raisers. This lady has been involved with this particular fund-raiser for the past 5 or 6 years, so she's a fixture now. Nobody likes her. She's 90 years old and is a constant source of frustration for everyone involved.
She doesn't remember her lines in the annual fund-raiser show, so the other actors onstage view her as a bomb, waiting to go off.
She asks dumb questions and is frequently distracted by minutae, so she drives the director (our Artistic Director) absolutely bonkers.
She complains about the program, the show, the venue, her part, everyone else's part and other ridiculous things to the point where the administrative staff of the event ignore her phone calls and are openly hostile to her, when they interract with her.
And because I have a seeminly infinite supply of patience and a soft spot for the elderly and senile, I have become her final point of contact in the theater. The only person who takes her calls and fills her requests. And she seems to know it too. She's not shy in her appreciation for me. At 90, I guess you want a few people who don't openly consider you to be a worthless bastard. And despite what I'm about to tell you about her, I'll still be kind and open to my interractions with her.
She called the theater on Wednesday to ask some questions about the upcoming fund-raiser, namely, what she'll be doing and f the theater needs some more help. (I guess she has a lot of free time at 90.) We straightened that business out and then she said, and I quote, "I tell you what, boy, I'm in a terrible mood. I could kill myself or someone else. I'm like a cup of cocoa, ready for the powder. You know what that means?"
"No, what does that mean?" I said.
"Well, it's something my mother used to say. It means that I'm hot under the collar! I'm steamed up! I'm ready to burst! And do you know why?"
"No. Why?" I asked.
"Well, it's because this country has elected a BLACK to the presidency! I can't believe it. I woke up this morning and turned on the news and that's what I saw! A BLACK is now the president! I don't know what's wrong with this country! I guess it's these young people. I guess they voted for him. Did you vote for him?"
"Um, yes I did. And I was at the rally in Grant Park last night and I'm wearing an Obama 08 t-shirt, right now. I hate to tell you this, but I'm one of the young people you're talking about." I chuckled to myself, thinking about that old adage that you never discuss politics or religion, unless you know every person in the room and what they already think. And sometimes, not even then.
"Well, I can't imagine why you would vote for him! He's BLACK! And you're in for a world of troubles, son! How long have you been in Chicago?"
"Um, I got here in 2000." I said.
"Well, you weren't here when Harold Washington was in charge, but you know how the BLACKS are just running amuck downtown? Well, that all started with Harold Washington. You let one BLACK in and they hire all the other BLACKS and then next thing you know, they just take over! That's why downtown is the way that it is! You can just imagine what the whole government will be like! BLACKS all over the place."
"Well, I don't think that will happen. I think -"
"I've been around. Once you spend 90 years or so on this planet, you get to learn a thing or to. You'll see what I mean! Why did you even vote for that guy?"
"Well, I want us out of Iraq as soon as possible. And I agree with his tax cuts for the middle class and regulation of business."
"Oh, none of those things will even happen! That's just the same old things that all politicians say! It's all lies! And if I'm going to be lied to, I'd rather be lied to by a white guy!"
We talked a little more about Iraq and how Obama promises to withdraw American troops by 2011. She offered me a bet, of one drink at the theater bar, that we will still be in Iraq in 2011. I agreed to the bet, with the proviso that we WILL probably still be there, but that our numbers will have to be significantly reduced. And because I was pretty sure that she will be dead by 2011, anyways. And you can't collect on a bet that outlives you.
But in all of that rant and the rant that followed, I never heard her mention, once, the qualifications of the other candidate. I also heard nothing from her about whether she voted or campaigned or did anything to actually affect the outcome of this election. And even if she DID vote for McCain, she did it in the worst possible county in the United States. On Tuesday, when the votes were all in, Cooke County, in Illinois was the single biggest pro-Obama county in the country. According to this map from the Washington Post, 76% of the county voted for Obama and 23% voted for McCain. A difference of 1,083,653 votes between the two candidates. And no surprise, either, as that's our home-town boy there. Of course, we came out for him.
But this lady illustrates two things pretty clearly. First, that racism, when it's blatantly displayed is cartoonishly ridiculous and not a thing to be feared. I'm not talking about the lynchings of the 60's and the Rodney King beating of the 90's. I'm talking about the articulation of the racists argument. It makes no sense, has no rational foundation, and is ultimately laughable. (Racial violence, on the other hand, is a very serious matter and should be taken seriously, because it's a form of civil violence, regardless of the motivation.) I couldn't muster up any anger for this lady, because, well, she's a harmless, inarticulate boob, who couldn't be bothered to vote her crazy-ass, ridiculous world-view.
She also illustrates a finer point that I've only recently become aware of. Racism is the providence of an older generation. And it's dying off and taking it's crazy-ass bullshit with it. There will be another election in 4 years and Obama will run against whichever mud-slinging, empty-rhetoric, puppet for big business that the Repubs choose to prop up (I'm guessing Romney) and although you won't see the tide of pro-active movement that happened this time, you'll see impassioned Americans looking to continue the agendas that they have voted into office this time, versus the aging, dying and increasingly nonexistent racist and bigoted opinions on the right and they'll get stomped again. The progressive movement is owned and pushed forth by the young generations of this country. And they simply don't have time or interest in the racist arguments of the older generations. Young blacks aren't looking for reparations for slavery and young whites aren't looking to bar civil liberties based on race (or sexual persuasion). It's a different social landscape and I think a lot of us didn't realize how different it was until last Tuesday evening.
This older lady and her baseless prejudices are irrelevant. And as much as I and the rest of the progressive movement would welcome her participation in the next great movement in this country, the thing that is holding her back, is herself. And that would be sad, if she were around long enough to actually affect anything.
Well, I've been bicycle-less since I moved to Chicago. And I've been car-less, since 2004. And despite my best plans and frequent pleadings to people with money, since the fall of last year, I've been Vespa-less.
Today, I bought the Next Best Thing!
Today, I bought a tricycle!
An Adult Tricycle!
It's currently being used in the mainstage production at our theater! The Lord of the Underworld rides it around onstage. I took it for a brief onstage spin during tech work for Radio Lab, the weekend before last. I liked the feel of it and the easy pace by which a person pedals a tricycle. I also like that it only has a single gear because I never could figure all of that stuff out and being as Chicago is flat, I don't have need for a whole lot of gears, anyways.
The Production Manager mentioned in the staff meeting that it was up for sale. He asked $200 for it. I talked him down to $150. I asked him about the basket and the breaks for it. He agreed to put the basket back on it, but said that he would knock it down to $100, if I put my own breaks back on it. I agreed, with the stipulation that I break down payments into $25 a week. "Sold!" he said, grateful to have it off of his hands. With some of the original cost recuperated.
I can pick it up on Sunday evening after the show closes. I have Stinger rehearsal until 6pm. I'll try to swing by after that, pick her up and ride her home. I think she's going to live in either the unused stairway to my basement. Or I could, when the weather gets nice again, build a little shelter for her, in the area between the two buildings and make sure that she's covered and doesn't get snowed and rained on. I think she'll last longer, if I take good care of her.
I'll ride her to rehearsals. I'll ride her to work. And to the Playground for shows. Well, down anywhere near Belmont, actually. This is going to save me time, as I wait for buses and trains and are perpetually late, because I am standing around, waiting for public transportation. It will be nice to hop on my bike and get going as soon as I get out of my apartment.
Hey, I just noticed how quickly I decided that the bike is a "her" and how quickly I am thinking of her as "mine".
Also, she looks roughly like this...
Nice!
Cheers, Mr.B
PS. To those who would very obviously point out that this is not exactly the coolest bike in the world, let me respond that I hear you and agree with you. But it's intended to be a unique and interesting form of transportation that gets me from Point A to Point B and makes for pleasant afternoon and evening rides. A tricycle isn't for a "go-getter". It's for a "get-there-when-we-get-there". I'm totally fine with (and even appreciate) the lack of coolness in this purchase.
(click on the pic to embiggen it. Trust me. It's worth it.)
That pretty much sums it all up, right there.
Cheers, Mr.B
PS. I have added some pics from my own Obama Rally experience here. I think it's safe to say that there's some Hot-Ass Flag Waving Action going on in there.
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